


The Masks We Wear

by jaqtkd



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dancing and Flirting, F/M, Flirting, Instant Attraction, Sexy Times, jon and dany later in their time line, one shot with failed ambition to be a multichapter, season 1 for most characters, stolen moment against a wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 20:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18395582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqtkd/pseuds/jaqtkd
Summary: King Robert is holding a grand Masquerade Ball to celebrate his son’s engagement to Sansa Stark and all the great families in the realm are invited.Jon Snow has mixed feelings about attending such an event but a chance encounter with a mysterious beauty is set to make his evening far more interesting.





	The Masks We Wear

**Author's Note:**

> Originally one of two ideas for the Valentine's Challenge 2018 (wrote Charade instead) and then put on the back burner. Had a number of attempts at expanding this into a multi chapter and have written a fair bit before and after this scene. However I keep getting stuckand have been annoyed that I can't share the part which first jumped into my head over a year ago.
> 
> I have been going with the idea of this happening in a slightly more modern Westeros but still very much pre-industrialisation. Here though I'm keeping the era rather more vague.
> 
> As it says in the tags. The idea here is that most of the characters here are around their Season 1 storyline with Jon and Dany being a bit further along. Perhaps an AU version of their season 4 or 5?
> 
> Anyway, it's entirely possible that I may return to the larger version of this. Until now, enjoy this, my art and the lovely moodboard by [the-last-targaryens](https://the-last-targaryens.tumblr.com/)

****

* * *

####  **The Masks We Wear**

"You do realise this is a celebration, Snow?" Robb teased.

"You do realise I don’t want to be here, Stark?" Jon countered.

They were standing near the door of King’s Landing's grand throne room, lavishly decorated with numerous House banners and rapidly filling with extravagantly dressed lords and ladies attending King Robert’s Masquerade Ball.

"You could have at least made some effort on your costume,” Robb continued, from behind his silver wolf mask. “All those outfits to choose from and you go with black?"

Jon shrugged. "It always was my colour."

"And I thought you'd be following Arya's lead and dressing up as one of your Targaryen heroes."

“Like most of the people here?” Jon rolled his eyes. "Bad enough I have to dress up and wear this mask. No way am I wearing a wig."

"Of course not, I should have know. Why would you want to hide those famed curly locks of yours?" Robb laughed at the face his half-brother made, slapping him hard on the shoulder. "Make the best of it, why don't you? You know it's an honour for you to have been invited. There's no way you would be ordinarily but your exploits during the Wildling Wars means even royalty has to overlook your bastard status and I’m certain most of the ladies here will too."

Jon rolled his eyes. "How very generous of them."

Robb just laughed, always seemingly unaware of just how much the lack of name hurt his brother. “Come, it's a party as I said and it's not every day a member of our family gets engaged to royalty."

Jon scoffed. "I still don’t feel happy about this match for Sansa."

“I understand, although it is a huge honour for our family.”

“Huh. If you say so.”

Robb grinned as he turned to give Jon a more considered appraisal. “Well, despite the lack of colour, I suppose you do cut a fairly dashing figure in that suit, so why don't you go talk to a few young ladies? Gaze at them with those sad, puppy dog eyes of yours and see if you can tempt any to bite."

His brother’s comment finally managed to tease a smile out of him. "Maybe later."

"Well, I'm going to ask Margaery Tyrell to dance," his brother said, his gaze falling on a group of chattering ladies nearby.

“How can you even tell?”

“Roses on her mask,” he replied with a casual shrug, “and there’s no-one _else_ who would wear a dress cut like that.”

Jon frowned. "Isn't she to be engaged to Prince Tommen though?"

"When he's old enough. Possibly. Anyway I'm only going to dance, not propose."

"If you say so but, from what I've heard, you’ll likely get more than you bargained for."

Robb smirked as he strode off. "Sounds like fun."

The group of musicians began tuning up, causing a wave of excitement to roll through the Hall as everyone anticipated the first of the dances. Jon remained by the door, however, having no inclination to talk to any of the young ladies here, despite what his brother said. It was true he was able to gain some attention from girls at home and had had even less trouble when fighting in the north. However, up there he had earned a reputation as someone who was considerate to those less fortunate than himself or as a feared fighter who had managed to rise above his station. Down here though? One mention of the name ‘Snow’ and half the ladies would likely run a mile, despite his apparent reputation as a war hero.

The first dance was announced and his gaze turned to Sansa, smile bright from ear to ear as Prince Joffrey made an obvious show of taking her hand to lead her to the floor. After a few polite steps others joined them, and Jon took on his favoured pastime of observer, making careful note of some of the key players here, his father’s warning about the political concerns now foremost on his mind. Robb was right, he realised. The masks were simply a piece of theatre, with most keen to show of their Houses by the colour or design of their outfits, and anyone who could not be readily identified was probably exceptionally unimportant.

“Have you seen Arya, Jon?” He jumped, surprised to find his father close to his shoulder, dressed in a strange white and red suit, apparently representing a weirwood tree.

“She was … over there ...” He glanced towards the side of the Hall where he had last noticed his youngest sister and then frowned. “No, sorry. Look like she’s moved.”

“Go find her would you? Her mother has people she needs her to be introduced to.”

Jon chuckled. “Boys you mean? She’ll love that.”

Eddard was still looking around at the dancers, his deep frown obvious even though the mask. “Far too many silver wigs today. I’m not sure I would have the nerve to dress up so in front of Robert.”

“They’re his ancestors too and the heroes of the majority of our stories so it was always going to be a popular...” Jon’s gaze fell on a small figure in a blue dress and silver wig who was being escorted from the dance floor. “… There she is. I’ll go and get her.” He nodded to his father and walked forwards, making his way through the crowd at an angle where he would be able to intercept his sister more easily.

“Arya,” he called out, to no avail, so he edged passed a couple more people and reached out his hand to rest on her shoulder. “Ayra!”

He realised his mistake before she had fully turned around. The lady was a little taller than her sister with her dress cut low at the back and revealing far more generous curves. Jon opened his mouth to apologise and then froze, suddenly transfixed by the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, the jewel encrusted mask only serving to emphasise their colour.

He tried to say something. To force himself not to gape at her like an idiot but, for some reason, she seemed equally transfixed, his lips parted in surprise, her head tipped. His gaze dropped to those lips as he licked his own and then shook his head trying to force himself to focus.

“Ahem.” The middle-aged knight who had been escorting the young lady off the floor was trying to get her attention but she seemed equally unable to response. Without really thinking it through, Jon said the first thing he could think of.

“Would you like to dance?”

“We really should get going,” her companion said but the girl ignored him completely giving Jon a smile which set his knees trembling.

“I would love to.” Gods even her voice was beautiful.

He knew how to dance, of course, and his fitness and co-ordination from the fighting he did generally made up for the lack of time practising the specifics. Not that it really mattered tonight as the girl seemed to be going through the motions as much as he was, her gaze never once leaving his. He thought he could easily drown in those sparkling eyes – lilac and blue and … heaven. He had never been much of a poet but, right at this moment, Jon felt he could compose a whole book of sonnets to this beauty in his arms. The silver hair _had_ to be a wig but, this close, it looked nothing like the one that Arya had been flaunting earlier. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought … He shook his head at the brief thought that occurred then. His mind was playing tricks on him, surely.

“My name is Jon,” he said then, realising that neither of them had spoken even though the dance was halfway through. Despite what Robb had said earlier, he hoped he could avoid giving his other name and prevent instant rejection.

He was still looking at her closely as she paused and glanced downwards. “Kaela of House Dayne.”

‘ _Fine, keep your secrets,’_ Jon thought. He was no stranger to deceit and could easily spot the lie. But why? He briefly allowed his gaze to move from her eyes, taking quiet note of her figure and the part of her face that wasn’t covered by the mask and recalled the rumour about who might have been tempted to gatecrash tonight.

“And _your_ House?” she enquired, pulling his attention back.

There was no avoiding it now, he supposed. “No House, my lady. My name is Snow.”

Instead of shutting down as he was expecting, her expression brightened, recognition flashing across her features. “Jon Snow of House Stark?”

He shrugged. “Lord Eddard Stark is my father, aye.”

“An honour then,” she said, her smile causing his heart to pound. “I have heard all about your exploits in the north.”

“Really?”

She tipped her head. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

He glowered slightly, expecting some dig about his height. “No?”

“No,” she replied and this time her smile was cheeky. “I had not expected such a renowned warrior to be quite so beautiful.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Beautiful?”

She laughed and Jon swallowed hard, now totally confused by all the different emotions this woman was creating in him.

“Is this a wig?” she asked him, her hands moving up to touch his hair and all he could do was shake his head slowly, wondering if he dared ask her the same question. She gasped a little then and Jon held his breath as he felt the very light tug of the curls she was fingering, willing his imagination to still. Trying to put all thoughts of her doing so whilst she lie beneath him and whispering his name as he kissed her soft skin and …

‘ _Focus.’_

But that was going to be impossible. She was entrancing. Impossibly beautiful. His brain seemed to be attempting to create more poetry, although he doubted he could ever find the words to adequately describe her.

When the music ended neither of them even noticed. Not until they bumped into another couple who were bowing to each other as they prepared to exit the floor. Jon very reluctantly moved away from her then, also bowing whilst still holding onto her hand – just the thought of having to release her causing him almost physical pain.

As they finally reached the edge of the dance floor, the older man was looming, impatient to take her back, a scowl thrown Jon’s way and urgent words muttered under his breath. Jon still felt unable to take his eyes off of her. Unable to stop his feet from following the pair at a discrete distance, his heart still pounding as he took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm the surge of blood rushing through his veins. Trying to convince himself that it wasn’t jealousy tempting him to follow but rather a sense of curiosity about this mysterious beauty who had been so unwilling to give him her true name.

There were so many rumours going around about various plots being hatched against the king. Houses in disarray with many quietly planning new rebellions whilst yet others wished to overturn the previous one. Warnings to Robert about the danger of holding a Masquerade Ball and offering up the perfect excuse for certain people to come into King’s Landing undetected. Their father had informed them that the politics of the south made the northern manoeuvrings seem like child's play urging his family to keep their ears and eyes open and tell him of anything or anyone suspicious. Perhaps this was something he should inform his father about ...

… His father … Arya …

“Seven Hells!”

Jon walked passed the large columns on the edge of the Hall and towards the stairs heading to the next floor, breathing out in relief as the sounds from the Ball began to fade and gave his ears a little relief. At the top he found himself on a wide veranda which overlooked the Hall on one side and a moonlit Blackwater Bay on the other. Jon took a welcome breath of fresh, evening air as he gazed at the scene, allowing it to cool his cheeks, pink from both the heat and his encounter with his memorising dance partner.

A few childish giggles turned his attention back to his mission, smiling at his success on discovering his sister quite so quickly. The girl and the view briefly forgotten, Jon was soon striding down the veranda to a dark corner where a number of children – both highborn and low – were playing some game of chase in-between the various red, stone columns.

“Arya. Your mother’s looking for you.”

“I’m busy,” she replied without turning around.

“No you’re not. You have responsibilities here as we all do.” She rolled her eyes, apparently unconcerned but Jon could see her hesitation. “At least return there for a while to reassure Lady Stark and then … well, perhaps you can sneak back up here later.”

Her pout turned to a sudden, bright grin. “Ah, now _there’s_ my favourite brother. I thought perhaps you’d been seduced by the south as Sansa has.”

Jon winced as the word seduced suddenly returned his thoughts to the beautiful ‘Kaela’.

“Not likely. Quickly now, the first half of the Ball is almost over.”

“We’ll be in the gardens if you manage to escape later,” one of the children called as the lowborns scattered one way and Arya and a couple of others ran back down to the Hall.

Jon started to follow at a rather more leisurely pace, in no hurry to return to the heat and the noise.

“So _that’s_ who you were looking for earlier when you accosted me.” The soft voice from the shadows caused him to pause, his heart pounding loudly as the turned towards her.

“Far to many people dressed as Targaryens here tonight,” he replied. “I got confused. And I wouldn’t say I accosted you, as such?”

Her laugh was delightful, sending sudden shudders up and down his spine. “I would like to see _you_ as a Targaryen, Jon. You’re certainly handsome enough to pull it off.”

He headed into the archway’s shadows, all his uncertainties and insecurities briefly forgotten as he prowled towards her. “You seem very taken with my looks tonight.”

“Maybe. Certainly it’s a surprise to learn you are a northerner.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not the rough barbarian you were expecting?”

As he moved closer she backed up – moving further into the shadows of the alcove – her eyes wide and lips slightly parted as she contemplated him.

What was he doing? Flirting with this mesmerising southern girl who was most definitely more than she appeared. But he wasn’t just doing this to gain information. He wanted to get closer. Wanted to unbalance her. Wanted to ... kiss her. Desperately. He licked his lips and her slightly nervous smile turned suddenly sly.

“My, my, Jon Snow … what _are_ you thinking about right now?”

He fought against the temptation to move away, willing himself to stay where he was. Just a little too close to her to be polite.

“I wouldn’t dare say, my lady. If I told you, you would have every right to hit me for my insolence.”

“Really? I’m not sure I would want to hit such a pretty face. I think perhaps I would far rather kiss it.” Another smirk. “I think perhaps you were thinking the same about me just now.”

“Perhaps.”

He moved even closer, hands on either side of her against the back wall, his arms caging her lightly, making sure she had plenty of space to escape if she wanted to, before very slowly leaning in. Her amazing eyes widened. Their colour a sign of Valyrian blood he was sure. Was she really of House Dayne? Remembered her smirk at the mention of House Targaryen he somehow doubted it. Surely she couldn’t be …? Not here. Right in front of him.

Her hands were on his shoulders before he knew what was happening, using them to lever herself upwards so she could press her lips against his. Jon groaned at the contact. She tasted divine. A hint of light wine and a sweet fruit and then … her. Warm and wet and so utterly delicious.

Who was seducing whom? If this was part of the southern Game of Thrones, then Jon was fairly certain he was set to lose. If he was not on his guard she would have him telling her everything he knew in a matter of moments. Fortunately for the realm that was not very much. The advantage of having been fighting a war on the edge of the known world for the last few years rather than sitting at Lord Stark’s right hand as Robb was.

Jon pressed her more firmly against the wall and then it was her turn to moan as she hooked a leg around his hip, fingers sliding up into his hair and pulling, just as he had imagined earlier. As he licked her lips she opened her mouth to him, her sounds and reaction making it seem as if she felt the same way as he did, although Jon knew he could not be certain about that. If she _was_ seducing him then she would do anything to make him think he was affecting her. And yet ...

He pulled away mostly in order to breathe, although her lips were dropped to his neck so quickly that he was robbed of the little air he had managed to gulp.

She nibbled up towards his ear, biting gently before whispering, “I want you, Jon. Where’s your room?”

“N-no ...” It was so hard to utter that single word. So difficult to deny her. “I won’t … I can’t.”

“I know that you want me too.”

“Yes but ...”

“But?” She pulled away, her expression confused and maybe even a little offended.

“I won’t disrespect you and … I don’t even know you and ...” Jon paused, debating what he was about to say to her. “When I _do_ finally have you naked under me ... Once I’ve kissed every inch of your bare skin ... When I finally slide inside you ...” He took a deep breath as she released a soft groan in his ear. “When that happens I want your _true_ name to be on my lips. Not this false one you’ve given me.”

She pulled away even more sharply, the look on her face a mixture of desire and amusement and … something else. “The stories really do do you an injustice,” she said.

“Oh?”

“You appear quite a bit brighter than they say.”

He glared. “You seem to know an awful lot about me.”

“Your reputation precedes you, as I said.”

“And what of _your_ reputation, my lady?”

She smirked, tipping her head to one side. “What do _you_ think?”

“That you look surprisingly familiar to me, despite the mask and obscure name you’ve given.”

“But you won’t take me back to your room so you can find out for certain?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

Her next smile was suddenly shy. “But sometime?”

He leant forward to give her another gentle, lingering kiss. “You can count on it.”

~o~0~o~


End file.
